


Mistakes and Misunderstandings

by KanoBelx



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Haikyuu!! Brofest 2017, Master Tier, Shiratorizawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanoBelx/pseuds/KanoBelx
Summary: Some people are just meant to hate each other, but everyone in Shiratorizawa refuses to believe that Semi and Shirabu are some of those people.





	1. Conflict and Contemplation

“The starting lineup will be Ushijima, Ohira, Tendou, Goshiki, Shirabu…” as Coach Washijou continued listing the other players, Semi peeked over nonchalantly to the second year. Shirabu was facing forward and bowed his head in silent acknowledgement; his face as blank as the third year’s. “…Semi will be our pinch hitter. That is all,” Saitou blew the whistle and everyone broke apart. Without hesitation, Semi strolled up to Shirabu; his back straight, his shoulder broad, his eyes set on the second year.

“Don’t screw up,” he stated coldly crossing his arms as he stood before him.

“I won’t,” he replied back with a glower. The two of them stood in complete silence, with eyes narrowing in malice. Suddenly the whistle blew again, scaring the two setters.

“Get to work!” Washijou screeched.

“Yes sir!” they both called out turning away from one another, their glares lingering a little longer.

“Aw Semisemi, no need to be so bitter. Kenjirou is just as good of a setter as you are,” Tendou chirped when Semi approached the other third years.

“Bitter? What? I’m not bitter!” he frowned setting one of the volleyballs. “Why would I be bitter?” he spat in offense as Ohira spiked the ball.

“Cause you’re jealous that Kenjirou took your spot,” he sang standing in front of him, monitoring the other middle blockers.

“What?” Semi shouted again, grabbing another ball. “I’m not jealous of him,” he scoffed rearing his head in confusion as he tossed once more.

“Of course you are! Why else would you threat him?” Yamagata called from behind the net, receiving all the balls that came flying towards him.

“Look, I’m not jealous of him. And I didn’t threat him, I was encouraging him—” suddenly Tendou burst into laughter, throwing his head back in jubilant cheer.

“That’s what you call encouraging?” he whooped. “Oh, you poor thing, Semisemi. What kind of encouragement did you grow up with?” Semi chucked the ball at him, the middle blocker catching it with ease.

“I’m serious here!” he hollered again. Tendou shook his head, and clicking his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk tsk,” he hummed throwing the ball into the air. Semi tossed it back up, Ushijima slamming it down towards the ground.

“Nice kill,” they complimented instinctively.

“You could be a little nicer,” Ushijima stated blankly before moving back to the end of the line. In shock, Semi dropped the volleyball, Tendou bursting out into bubbling laughter again.

“Even Wakatoshi says you’re bad!” Tendou howled loudly.

“He didn’t say I was bad—”

“That’s what he meant,” he hummed wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Why don’t you just tell him good luck?” Yamagata suggested, swapping out with one of the substitute liberoes, his arms red from Ushijima’s spike.

“I did!” Semi complained, tossing another ball.

“What did you say to him specifically?” the shortest of them asked.

“I said…” Semi paused. “Okay, maybe I didn’t say those _exact_ words, but that’s what I meant,” he grumbled.

“Not everyone speaks your language, Eita,” Tendou whistled. Debating whether he should throw another ball at his face or not, Semi glared at him.

“Honestly though, do you not have a problem with him taking your spot as the main setter?” Yamagata asked stopping him from chucking the volleyball.

“Not really. I mean, of course I’m frustrated that I can’t play, but I know why Shirabu is better fit for this team. Not that I’m admitting he’s better than me, just better suited,” he frowned. “Frankly, I think he’s a pretty cool guy,” he shrugged.

“Why don’t you becomes friends with him? It would certainly lighten the tension,” Ohira chimed in, stepping out of the line and up to the setter.

“I’m trying!”

“You really aren’t,” Tendou hummed.

“I—! I don’t know how,” he grumbled angrily setting the ball higher than usual.

“Start off by being nice to him,” the wing spiker mused.

“I don’t know how,” he repeated this time with a more disappointed and defeated tone.

“You’re always nice to Tsutomu!” Tendou chirped pulling the first year from apparently nowhere.

“That’s because Tsutomu’s a good boy,” Semi replied as he tossed the ball, Goshiki running up and spiking it. “Nice kill,” he smirked reaching up and patting him on the head. The first year’s face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. Grabbing his shoulders, Tendou motioned him away again, the first years leaving with no questions, except the ones running through his head.

“Just say good luck. Don’t interpret it in another way. Don’t reword it. Don’t even add anything. After practice—in layman’s terms—just say those two words. _Good. Luck_. Nothing else, okay?” Yamagata instructed.

“I can try,” he muttered.

“Now you’re just being bias, Semisemi,” the red head mused.

“I think what Tendou means is what makes Tsutomu a good kid and Kenjirou a bad one?” Ohira clarified.

“I never said that Shirabu was a bad kid! He’s just—he’s so infuriating!” he yelled setting the ball all the way to the ceiling. As the ball fell down, slamming hard against the gym’s floor, people turned to look at the irritated setter. “That’s it; I’m practicing my serves. Not like I need to be setting anyways,” he muttered scooping up the ball and walking away to another court. Kawanishi turned to Shirabu from the opposite side of the net and whistled.

“Still think I misunderstood him?” Shirabu snorted, continuously tossing balls up into the air. Kawanishi easily blocked the balls and sighed.

“Probably,” he muttered. Practice went on for several more moments, before the whistle was blown, everyone pitching in to clean up the gym. As they all walked over to the changing room, the third years nudged Semi with the exception of Ushijima, who gave him a supportive nod. With a low grumbled Semi walked over to the two second years.

“Hey!” he shouted catching their attention his fist shoved into his short pockets.

“Bad start,” Yamagata mumbled softly, as they watched in anticipation.

“Good luck,” he stated, his head tilted back in an intimidating manner.

“With?” Shirabu scoffed his face deadpan. Semi clicked his tongue and looked over his shoulder at his friend who gave him thumb-ups and grins. With a deep breath, Semi shook his head at his friends’ response.

“Good luck with being in the first string,” he muttered.

“Are you implying that I need luck?” the second year asked.

“What? No! That’s not what I’m saying. Look, you may be comfortable on the court and playing alongside the team, but you’re going to be the defining backbone of Shiratorizawa. It’s your job to utilize everyone at the perfect time for every possible situation. So, good luck,” he explained an undeniable scowl on his face.

“Thanks, but I don’t need your luck. It was my hard work and determination that got me my position. I never needed some dumb luck to help me win, what I need is my knowledge and my teammate’s skill,” Shirabu huffed taking a step forward. Semi stifled a laugh and shook his head.

“I get it; you’re good. You took my position after all. All I’m saying is: good luck,” he repeated gesturing at Shirabu with his hands before walking away back towards his friend.

“We need to work on your social skills,” Ohira sighed patting Semi on the back attempting to reassure him.

“Ha? Did I do _that_ poorly? I did exactly as Hayato said. I told him good luck!” he cried turning to the other three.

“I told you not to add anything,” the libero sighed shaking his head in disappointment.

“Screw going back to the dorms; let’s have a night out. Eita dearly needs our help,” Tendou sighed as well, resting his elbow on Ushijima’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t that terrible!” he hollered loudly. As the five of them remained outside—Semi determine to defend himself—the two second years entered the changing room, Kawanishi staring at Shirabu silently. When Shirabu took off his shirt, his expression slowly changed. He sucked in his lower lip, biting it softly, as his eyes glazed over, mindlessly staring at his locker full of clothes. His brows were furrowed inwards, his forehead crinkling with contemplation.

“What?” Kawanishi sighed closing his locker after he finished changing. He would never admit it, but he was weak to Shirabu’s sad face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he mumbled sadly almost as if he were talking to himself.

“You did,” Kawanishi replied bluntly. “You should’ve just said thank you and walked away. You didn’t have to insult him and you especially didn’t need to rub it in his face that you stole his position,”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he pouted buttoning up his shirt. “I thought he was trying to mock me,” he grumbled.

“He literally just said good luck,” he frowned the two of them walking out of the club room and back to their dorms. As they opened the door, the group of third years took a step back—about to enter themselves. Semi turned away with a small huff, Shirabu doing the same in the opposite direction. “Sorry,” Kawanishi said bowing his head as he grabbed Shirabu and slipped passed them.

“Its fine,” Tendou chirped waving them goodbye. The second year paused for a moments as he noticed the same look on Semi’s face that was on Shirabu’s. Pondering for a quick second he looked back and forth between his best friend and his upperclassmen before shaking his head and leading him away.

“You two,” he murmured softly as they disappeared into the dormitory.

“You know Eita, I don’t think you did anything wrong,” Ohira stated as the five of them started changing. “You’re not meaning to be rude, we just need to teach you how to be a little more delicate with your words,” he reasoned with a dry chuckled.

“You need a maiden’s heart!” Tendou sang swinging his fingers in little circles.

“First off, fuck you. And second of all, who the hell is gonna teach me to have a maiden’s heart? You?” he scoffed with a look of disgust.

“Wakatoshi, why don’t you teach him?” the middle blocker sang. Semi turned to the captain with a look of utter shock and disbelief. Ushijima turned to him and placed one heart over his heart, the other one outstretched to the side. As Ohira and Yamagata stared at him in confusion, Tendou cried out with laughter.

“You know what? This gives me an idea!” Yamagata smirked, quickly finishing changing his clothes and running over to the door in excitement. “We have a long night ahead of us,” he grinned eagerly his face illuminating.

“Plus we only have afternoon practice tomorrow,” Tendou chirped in addition.

“Oh god,” Semi grumbled, everyone finishing up and following the libero out. Yamagata and Tendou led the group the two of them conversing in quiet, secretive whispers. “So,” the pinch server hummed. “Was I really that terrible?” he asked turning to Ohira.

“Well,” he chuckled patting his friend’s back. “You tried,” he shrugged. “You’re almost as bad as Wakatoshi when it comes to being upfront and, well, crude,” he smiled. “You just need to know how to word things better that’s all,” he reassured.

“And body language!” Yamagata called over his shoulder giving a little shimmy. Semi snorted and nodded his head.

“If you guys can actually make me and Shirabu get along, well, that would be a miracle,” he smirked a sort of gentle fondness gleaming in his eyes. The five of them walked through the golden rays of the evening, the sun cradled in the horizon. The air was chilled, the wind blowing in slow increments. Cheerfully, the five of them chatted away, they’re minds on idle things. Eventually, they entered a ramen shop, all of them crunched together in a booth. “So what’s your great advice?” Semi asked sarcastically after they finished ordering. He was squished in between Ushijima and Ohira, Yamagata and Tendou sitting in the seats in front of them.

“What is it that you want to tell Shirabu?” Yamagata questioned, Tendou giving him a supportive nodded. At first Semi stared with grueling hate before shaking his head and sighing deeply.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, shuffling around to sit up tall.

“Well, what’s your opinion of Shirabu?” Ohira asked trying to help.

“He’s really good at being a setter, but he doesn’t have enough experience with a team like this. I was the main setter for two years and even though he kicked me out of my spot, I still feel like I can use this knowledge for something,” he grumbled.

“And that something is?” the libero persisted rolling his wrist.

“I don’t know,” Semi muttered tilting his head down and pouting like a frustrated child.

“You do know,” Ohira reassured. “You’re just too embarrass to admit it, aren’t you?” he questioned. Softly, Semi grumbled some more before sighing and sprawling out onto the table.

“I just want to give him advice, because I feel like he could really benefit from it. He’s good; I have faith that he can carry this team without my help, but it would be more convenient if he could just learn from my mistakes and my experiences. I just don’t get why he hates me so much? I mean, _I_ can’t possibly be the bad guy in all this!” he cried out the last part ruffling his head with his hands in irritation.

“Are you imply that someone _is_ the bad guy?” Tendou chirped giving the silverette a knowing glance.

“Shirabu isn’t the bad guy either,” he hissed spitefully looking up and glaring at the red head.

“Look,” Yamagata sighed grabbing Semi and forcing him to sit up nicely. “If you don’t _hate_ Shirabu, and you actually want to _help_ him, then why do you always sound and look so angry when you talk to him?” he asked. The other four turned to look at him, even Ushijima curious about his reasoning.

“I… I don’t know. That’s just how I act around him. The same as when I act around you guys, I’m not doing anything on purpose, it’s just the way I am,” he shrugged. “Whenever I actually try being nice, he always replies with something cool or witty and it just pisses me off,” he grunted, his hand tightening into a fist.

“Well, maybe that’s because even if your words are meant to be nice, the way you say things are, well…,” Yamagata turned to Ohira for help. The big man sighed and nodded his head.

“You’re very nonchalant whenever you say anything to him which gives off the vibe that you don’t really care or that you’re being sarcastic. Sometimes you just sound down right angry, which probably makes him think that we put you up to it or that you’re doing it begrudgingly to save face. Get it now?” he explained. With a grumble and a sigh, Semi nodded in defeat.

“Here, let’s have some practice!” Yamagata chirped. “Compliment Ushijima,” he ordered gesturing over to their silent captain. Semi turned to his left and looked at the towering man.

“N-nice kill?” he stuttered, not sure of what else he could say. Immediately, Tendou burst into outrageous laughter, Yamagata suffocating him with a jacket in attempts to stifle his laughter. Closing his eyes and tilting his head down, Semi clenched his hands into fist, trembling with rage. Ohira chuckled and shook his head as he placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he cooed, Semi taking a deep breath. The waitress arrived handing each of them their bowl, Tendou still hiccupping with jubilant giggles.

“Eita,” he wheezed shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re the absolute worse,” he breathed, finally calming down.

“I. Hate. _You_ ,” the setter replied bitterly as he began to dig in. As everyone started eating, Semi took note of Ohira’s food. “That looks good; can I try some?” he hummed pointing at the ramen bowl with his finger.

“Go ahead,” he grinned shifting his bowl over towards his friend, Semi offering up his own food as well. As he took a spoonful, Yamagata’s face lit up.

“Eita!” he shouted, startling the table. “Ask Ushijima if you can have some of his food!” he commanded. Confuse, Semi turned to his captain once more, who stared back at him expectantly. “And be casual! Like how you normally would ask at lunch!” he added quickly when he noticed his friend’s hesitation. Taking a deep breath, Semi shrugged and nodded his head.

“Hey, can I have a bite of that?” he asked plainly, eyeing the food before looking back at him. Ushijima nodded his head and Semi casually scooped up the noodles and ate it.

“Now ask Tendou if you can have some!” Semi frowned and turned to Tendou and his sly grin. With a slight scoff, he nodded his head.

“Hey, give me some of your food,” he stated his chopsticks already pointing at the bowl.

“I get it now,” Ohira mused turning to Yamagata as if he were a genius.

“I don’t?” Semi scowled tweaking his head to the side in confusion.

“Now ask me,” Yamagata instructed. The silver haired third year stared at him for a moment before grabbing his food without question. Sighing, Yamagata nodded his head. “I expected that much,” he hummed.

“I still don’t get it,” Semi stated again his mouth now full.

“You act differently around everyone. Even though you’re just asking for food, you use different phrases and you do different things with your body. Now, how would you ask Shirabu for food?” he questioned.

“I wouldn’t,” he replied.

“Close your eyes!” Tendou commanded. With a grumble, Semi did as he was told.

“Now, imagine he has an abundant amount of tuna rolls and he’s handing some out,” Ohira described. “How would you ask him for some?” he asked. All four of them stared at Semi intensely as his face began to contort into irritation and frustration.

“Oi, I want some too,” he grunted. All of them sighed deeply. “Did I fail?” he mumbled opening one of his brown eyes to their dishearten expressions.

“Maybe he should try talking to Kenjirou with his eyes close?” Tendou suggested turning to his left.

“This is going to be a really, _really_ long night,” Yamagata sighed with an amuse smirk.


	2. Hate and Haste

Quietly, Shirabu sat at his desked flipping through pages of textbooks and notes. On the opposite side of the room, Kawanishi laid on his bed reading quietly. The room was completely silent, the sound of lead scraping across paper and the occasionally rustling of pages filled the air. Threading his fingers into his hair, Shirabu grumbled softly, the concepts leaving his mind faster than they enter. “Hell,” he grunted slamming his face down on the desk.

“Want me to tutor you?” Kawanishi asked already putting a bookmark in between the pages and walking over.

“No,” he groaned looking off to the side. “I’ve already read these pages and taken my notes; twice,” he sighed.

“Then why are you still reading it?” he hummed, taking a seat on his friend’s bed.

“Well…” he mumbled sitting up and turning to look at Kawanishi.

“Let me guess,” he smirked. “You’re still upset about what happened with Semi, huh?” Shirabu drooped his head and sighed deeply, a dark purple surrounding him.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong!” he sniffled. “I admired and respected him all of my first year and now—! And now he hates me,” he let out a loud roar, throwing his head back in frustration and slapping his face between his hands. Kawanishi smiled softly as he scooted towards his friend and flicked his forehead. “What?” Shirabu whispered looking into dark brown eyes.

“He doesn’t hate you, come on. You know how Semi can be; he may seem angry all the time but he’s not a bad guy,” he reassured.

“I know he’s not a bad guy,” Shirabu mumbled. “He’s not a bad guy at all. But it’s not that he _seems_ angry, he _is_ angry. I get it, that might just be how his face is—” Kawanishi snickered “—but he’s _perpetually_ angry around me. He’s always nice and encouraging to Goshiki, and he even compliments you! Whenever it comes to me, he’s just… he’s just… he’s just—!” Shirabu let out another loud groaned, slumping backwards into his seat.

“You know, it really does look like he’s trying to help you sometimes. I know his phrasing isn’t the best, and his tone _is_ usually hostile—not to mention his aggressive body language—but what I mean is that he _does_ act like he’s trying to help you. You took his place on the team after all,” he reasoned giving Shirabu a smirk. The setter grumbled and looked up at the ceiling.

“Not my fault that Coach decided that I was better than him,” he huffed. Kawanishi sighed and slapped him on the knee.

“It’s probably things like that, that makes him so mad at you,” he frowned. Getting out of his desk chair, Shirabu collapsed onto his bed and moaned loudly.

“But it’s true!” he shouted, his voice muffled by his pillows. His friend patted him on the back and shook his head.

“Do you want to get along with Semi?” he asked with a serious tone. For a long moment, Shirabu was completely silent, contemplating what he really wanted.

“Of course, I do,” he breathed softly. “He’s one of my idols; not that I’ll ever tell him that. But honestly, I really do look up to him and it’d be nice if we weren’t always fighting with one another. We may not play together on the court, but we’re still a team under the name of Shiratorizawa,” he mumbled softly, his eyes glazing over as he blankly stared across the room at nothing.

“Maybe act like it?” Kawanishi mocked. “Look,” he sighed when Shirabu didn’t react to his taunting in any way. “Maybe you’re just misunderstanding him. And maybe he’s just misunderstand you. Try talking to him tomorrow and please, be nice,” he requested.  Shirabu laid there wordlessly, but nodded his head.

“What should I do?” he asked, his voice barely there.

“For starters—since we know he’s really bad at body language and tone of voice—just listen to his words and disacknowledge everything else. Think _very_ carefully before you speak. If you think you need to defend yourself, you probably misunderstood what he really meant; try to reinterpret his words if that happens,” he advised contemplating what else to say. “Maybe you should initiate the conversation. If you have control over what you’re talking about you’ll probably feel more confident and less snippy,” he added giving him a small smile.

“Thanks, Taichi,” Shirabu hummed pushing himself up. “I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow after practice,” he declared although mainly to himself, clutching his fist in determination.

“That’s good. Now then, get some sleep,” Kawanishi smiled patting his head and walking over to his own side of the room. As he resumed his reading, Shirabu curled up in his bed underneath his covers, his eyes closed.

“Okay, but wait,” he stated sitting up again. Exhaling, Kawanishi placed his book down and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

“Alright fine. What else?”

* * *

“Guys… I don’t think this is going to work,” Semi muttered holding up the tiny rabbit in his hands.

“Aww come on! Why not?” Yamagata whined, a large grin on his face as he held his own furry ball.

“Because Shirabu isn’t a rabbit and this rabbit isn’t Shirabu?” he reasoned looking back down at the fluffy creature.

“That’s why you’re not pretending that’s it Kenjirou,” Tendou mused taking the rabbit and placing it on the ground and forcing Semi down onto his knees. “Talk to the little guy without making it run away,” he ordered.

“H-hey,” Semi stuttered waving at the rabbit, his lips angled in an awkward smile, his brows furrowed in concern. The critter looked up at him and hopped away quickly. Bursting out into laughter, Tendou grabbed his stomach and cried. “Shut up! I feel stupid!” he shouted keeling forward onto the ground in defeat. “Why am I even talking to a rabbit!” he roared sitting up again and point an accusative finger at Tendou.

“Because that’s the only animal that the pet store had out to play with,” Ohira replied happily stroking the rabbit nestled in his arms. With an exaggerated sigh, Semi crawled over to the rabbit and stared at it. Without a word, it hopped away again. Coming up behind him, Yamagata slapped him on the back.

“I’m trying!” he shouted before the libero could lecture him. “It’s hard, okay?” he glared.

“Oh, sure it is! Look at Wakatoshi!” Tendou chimed pointing over to their captain who was surround by rabbits.

“That’s unfair! Ushijima is on a whole new level than us!” he growled throwing his hands in the air hysterically.

“Alright, alright, we’ll leave you alone for now. When we come back, you better be best friends with that rabbit,” Yamagata stated motioning everyone else to follow him. As they wandered around the pet store, Semi crawled over to the rabbit again.

“Alright look,” he sighed in defeat. “We both need this; I can’t go home and you can’t get back into that pen with all your _actual_ friends until _we_ become friends, got it?” he asked. The rabbit looked back at him with its large black eyes and wiggled its nose.  “God, I feel so stupid,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head in shame. Silently, the animal hopped away.

“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” he called, scooting over to block its path. The rabbit immediately stopped and stared up at him in mild judgement. “Now you listen to me here!” he frowned, pointing a finger at the fur ball. Quickly, it turned way, hopping in the opposite direction. “Oh come on!” he cried, throwing his fist up again. Several minutes passed as Semi constantly attempted to approach the fleeing rabbit. Discouraged, the setter let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Look, I know I’m bad with not being scary, but I’m trying!” he said earnestly several feet away from the rabbit who turned around to face him. “I’m not so bad, see?” he whispered, slowly laying down on his stomach. Twitching its ears the rabbit hopped towards him. “See?” he repeated putting a hand out softly. As the rabbit got close enough to be touched, Semi smiled genuinely. “That’s a good bunny,” he cooed. Carefully, he reached up and stroked the soft brown fur.  “Heh, that wasn’t so hard,” he hummed softly resting his head on his free hand.

“Good job, Eita,” Ohira smiled as the rest of the team approached him.

“Took you long enough,” Tendou sang.

“Shut it, Satori,” Semi glared picking up the rabbit and cradling it in his arms.

“We should get going now,” the wing spiker mused prying in between the two. “The pet store is probably going to close soon,” he added. Getting to his feet, Semi returned the rabbit to its pen and smiled at it.

“See you later,” he grinned putting his hand down in front of it. Hoping towards the hand, the rabbit nuzzled against him suddenly flopping down onto its side. Stroking the side of the rabbit, he patted it once and pulled away. When he turned round, the others smiled at him. “What?” he frowned glaring at them.

“Nothing,” they hummed wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders as they left the shop.

“So what the hell was with that exercise?” Semi asked as they stopped at a park. Yamagata and Tendou sat down on the swings, everyone else standing around them.

“Earlier, you were saying how Shirabu isn’t a rabbit and how the rabbit isn’t Shirabu,” Ohira noted. “From now on though, when you’re talking to Shirabu, imagine that he’s running away—just like the rabbit—every time he gets defensive,” he advised. Semi frowned as he walked over to one of the swings and sat down.

“I can try,” he muttered.

“And if that doesn’t work, just go with plan B,” Tendou chirped.

“What’s plan B?”

“Talking with your eyes closed,” Semi tore of his shoe and chucked it at his friend.

“Die!” he shouted, his face red from embarrassment.

“That hurts, Semisemi. I’m being serious for once,” he whined tossing the shoe back. With a huff, Semi began kicking himself back and forth, the chains rattling and squeaking as he rocked around.

“Do you think it’ll work?” he murmured becoming docile again, his eyes focusing on his feet.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Ushijima spoke up. Everyone turned to him, the wind biting at their bare skin. “You’re both reasonable people. You both have an understanding and a talent for being a setter. What could go wrong? Communication is simple; you only need to be blunt and admit your feelings and true intentions. If you understand his words and he understand yours, why should it be hard?” he asked staring into brown eyes. With a scoff, Semi loomed his head and nodded.

“You’re right,” he sighed softly swaying with the wind. “You’re right,” he repeated lifting his head in determination. “I got this! There’s nothing to be afraid of! He’s just a second year. We’re both people—reasonable ones at that—a decent conversation shouldn’t be too hard to hold! I mean all I have to do is admit that I’m worried for his well-being as the new setter of the team. I just have to tell him that I know he’ll do well, but he could still benefit from my advice and experience, that can’t be hard, right?” he exclaimed jumping off of the swing and turning to his friends with a glowing grin. Tendou whistled and cheered, clapping his hands in amusement.

“It’s a good plan,” Ohira smiled, placing a hand on the setter’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” he encouraged.

“So what’s the game plan?” Yamagata smirked getting out of the swing as they began walking back to school.

“Well,” he hesitated. “It’s simple really…”

* * *

Above the campus, the sun peered its shimmering light, people going about their usual Saturday morning routine. Shirabu spent the majority of his morning studying and the other half complaining to Kawanishi, who gladly listened to his distressed friend. Packing up their bags, they hurried off to the gym. “Don’t forget to talk to Semi after practice,” Kawanishi teased, patting his friend’s head.

“Of course, I will!” he blushed with an arrogant huff. “I’m going to the gym,” he grumbled, slamming the locker shut as he walked out. Quietly the second year snickered to himself and sighed. His best friend was pathetic, but he really couldn’t blame; Semi _was_ pretty intimidating. And just pretty in general, but that was a thought for another day. Softly, Shirabu mumbled to himself, repeatedly repeating the speech he prepared in his head.

“Oh Shirabu!” the setter lifted his head at the sound of his name and froze completely. Semi stood in front of him, his head tilted down, his hand scratching the back of his neck. Shirabu gulped and desperately looked over his shoulder for his friend, but was discourage when he realized he was alone. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” he muttered, his eyes still averted away from him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Shirabu shouted back frantically. He spent all last night mentally prepared himself to talk to his senior, yet he was only prepared to start the conversation. Shocked, Semi reared his head back, a scowl on his face as he furrowed his brows in confusion. Crossing his arms, he stared intensely at the second year, waiting for him to speak.

“What?” Semi finally demanded attempting to encourage Shirabu. Tensing up, he glanced over his shoulder once more before staring back into those brown eyes. Finally leaving the club room, Kawanishi noticed Shirabu and Semi awkwardly standing in front of one another. With a sharp breath, he quickly hurried passed them and stopped several feet behind Semi. Catching sight of his friend, Shirabu’s face lit up and his body relaxed. Quickly, the nonchalant second year motioned him to speak.

“I don’t need your apology—”

“Hah?” he hollered. From behind Shirabu, the third years were running their hands across their necks in an attempt to shut their friend up.

“What I mean is, I don’t need you to apologize,” he clarified when he saw his best friend smacked his forehead.

“Oh,” Semi replied, dropping his arms to his side. His face relaxed and lit up, but Shirabu didn’t noticed, his eyes carefully locked onto Kawanishi for social cues. “Ah well,” he glanced over at his own friends, Tendou and Yamagata flailing for him to continue. “I just want you to know that I wasn’t trying to mock you or anything. I know I can come off as kind of scary and what not, but I really meant well,” he admitted shyly.

“I-it’s fine,” Shirabu hesitated Kawanishi rolling his wrist for him to go on. “I should actually be the one to apologize. I jumped to conclusions and thought that you were trying to make fun of me. I kind of have a history of people doubting me, so I made it a point of pride to prove myself to everyone,” he admitted, although Semi was only half listening, the rest of his attention glued to his friends.

“To be honest, I know you’re a great setter and I faith in you, but I still feel like I can teach you a thing or two and…” as Semi continued to ramble on, Shirabu mindlessly nodding, Kawanishi finally noticed the group of third years, the group finally noticing him as well. Tendou perked up and waved at him happily. Unamused, he gave a weak greeting back. Suddenly the two setters paused and turned around, their eyes immediately pinning the helpers.

Kawanishi pushed his lips into a thin line and turned away, scratching the back of his head. Ohira and Yamagata gave a pathetic smile, Tendou grinning like nothing, and Ushijima staring blankly. Shirabu’s face burned red and he immediately assumed the worse. Before Semi could say anything, more or less turn around, Shirabu ran passed him and grabbed his friend’s arm, practically dragging him to the gym.

“What’s wrong, Kenjirou?” Kawanishi asked, finally getting his arm back and walking beside him. Shirabu hung his head low, biting his bottom lip anxiously.

“It was a set up,” he muttered bitterly.

“No, it wasn’t—”

“Yes, it was!” he shouted raising his head, his eyes filled with shame and rage. Sighing heavily, the middle blocker nodded his head in unamused acknowledgement.

“Calm down,” he stated impassively. Although it seemed like he was being harsh, it was Kawanishi’s ability to remain calm that always comforted Shirabu the most. With a deep breath, he nodded. Kawanishi motioned him to the side of the gym and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re over thinking it,” he reassured. The setter opened his mouth to fight back, but closed it immediately. “They were probably just encouraging him, like I was encouraging you. Just because they were signaling things to him, doesn’t mean the things he said were disingenuous. Not everyone is after you. Just calm down,” Shirabu inhaled loudly and rested his forehead against his friend’s chest.

“I don’t believe him; I can’t bring myself to believe him,” he whispered cynically. Semi stood on the other side of the corner and frowned greatly, only hearing the last sentence before stalking off back to his friends.

“Fuck it,” he stated before walking through the doors. The four of them looked at each other and sighed, even Ushijima slightly disappointed by the outcome.

“Maybe Captain should talk to Shirabu? He’ll believe him,” Yamagata suggested hopefully. Ohira shook his head and followed Semi inside.

“At this point, Shirabu will think Eita put him up to it. He probably thinks _we_ put Eita up to it too. For now, we should just give him space; both of them,” he advised, the other third years agreeing bitterly.


	3. Truths and Telltales

Practice went on as usual, but everything seemed to be tense. Even the non-first strings felt the tension. In the corner of the gym, Semi practiced his serves alone; the ball flying high into the air before raining down onto the ground with a crash. Goshiki snuck up to Semi with a cheerful grin, a volleyball in his hand.

“Toss to me?” he questioned gleefully. Semi clicked his tongue but nodded in agreement anyways. Moving closer to the net he tossed the ball into the air and watched the first year slam it down. “Nice kill,” he smiled fondly. Goshiki shimmered brightly as they continued to practice, Semi’s mood increasingly improving with the wing spiker’s influence.

“Is something wrong?” the first year eventually asked as the ball whooshed passed his hand, bouncing on the ground in rejection.

“Distraught,” Semi replied with a shrug. “Don’t bother concerning yourself with my problems. Just focus on your own,” he added noticing Goshiki’s frown.

“What problems?” he asked as he aligned himself for another spike.

“Like getting along with Shirabu. He’s the new setter; why don’t you ask him to toss to you?” he noted. The wing spiker pouted and crossed his arms.

“I tried asking him, but he always tells me no,” he huffed childishly. “Plus I just like you better,” he gleamed. Fondly, Semi smiled at him and nodded.

“Alright, alright,” he hummed.

“So why doesn’t Shirabu like me?” he asked as they continued to practice.

“I don’t think Shirabu likes anything,” Semi said coldly. Goshiki caught the ball and landed on his feet, not even attempting to spike it. “Something wrong?” the third year asked tilting his head to the left at the other’s puzzled expression.

“He likes Kawanishi and Ushijima. He really likes volleyball. I’m pretty sure I heard he likes shirasu too,” Goshiki listed.

“No need to take me so seriously,” Semi replied patting his shoulder.

“He may be mean, but he isn’t a bad person or heartless,” he stated handing the ball back and lining himself up.

“I know,” he whispered softly setting the ball.

“I still think you’re a better player though,” the first year complimented. Semi chuckled with amusement and nodded.

“Maybe not. We have two different playing styles, both with their strengths and weaknesses. At times I may be better, but overall Shirabu’s the best fit for this team,” he reasoned honestly. The wing spiker stared at him curiously, but decided to remain silent in hopes that the third year would continue. “Shirabu works just as hard as I do. Even though I stand out more than him, it’s because it’s on purpose. He doesn’t need to be noticed and prefers to be hidden completely. I don’t like being restricted, which causes me to be an unpredictable—and sometimes unreliable—setter,” he went on.

“What do you think about his playing style?” Goshiki asked urging him for more.

“I think it’s smart. I think _he’s_ smart. I have completely faith in him to hold up the team, but at the same time I feel like he still has a lot to learn,” he rambled.

“Why do you think he dislikes us? Or acts like it at least?” he questioned, focusing more on the conversation than his spikes.

“Who knows? I don’t know for sure, but I think he’s just trying to protect himself,” he replied recalling the small rabbit from the night before. “Maybe he’s just scared to get close. His pride is worth a lot and if questioned his immediate response is to attack. I don’t know; is me calling him scared the same as me attacking him?” he hummed rhetorically. Suddenly the ball hit Goshiki in the head, causing him to crash into the net. “Tsutomu!” he shouted in concern.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he hollered scrambling to his feet quickly. Chuckling, Semi grabbed ahold of his shoulder.

“Take a break; it’s not good for the future ace to overwork himself,” he smirked. A fire lit in Goshiki’s eyes as he held up his fist in determination.

“It’s okay! I can keep going!” he beamed.

“It does no one any good if you tire yourself out,” he smiled lovingly. The first year pouted and nodded his head somberly, returning to the sidelines of the gym.

“Shirabu!” Washijou shouted, motioning the second year over to him, scaring Goshiki who was only a few feet away. Kawanishi watched him strut over resentfully.

“Yes, sir?” he asked proudly.

“Go run ten laps! You’re not concentrating hard enough,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated jogging out of the gym, the first year staring as he drank from his water bottle. Walking over to the line of wing spikers where Kawanishi was, Goshiki waited until he got closer to the net.

“Is Shirabu okay?” he asked the second year, genuinely worried.

“Just distraught,” Kawanishi replied, Semi’s words echoing in Goshiki’s head.

“Is it because of—?”

“It’s really none of your business, Goshiki,” he interrupted. His voice was cool, with no hints of hostility. Pushing his lips together to signify his willingness to resign the conversation, Goshiki returned to the back of the line. Several minutes passed and Kawanishi swapped out with another middle blocker. Grabbing a towel and his water bottle he stood outside the exit of gym. Patiently he watched Shirabu run his last few laps and approached him panting. Without a word he handed him the water bottle.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly.

“Feeling better?” he mused. Shirabu didn’t reply as he took the towel and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.

“Was I that obviously distracted?” he asked instead.

“As your friend, of course _I_ noticed, but Goshiki’s pretty worried about you too,” Kawanishi admitted.

“Goshiki?” he mumbled with confusion then he scoffed and nodded his head. “Even that fool is worried about me,” he cooed with resentment.

“Just put it in the past,” the middle blocker stated patting his back. Sighing Shirabu shook his head.

“You’re right, I guess,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t let Semi get in my head—”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he glared. With dejected eyes, the setter turned away.

“I’m over it, let’s just go,” he suggested walking back into the building. Kawanishi frowned but followed him in anyways. When they returned to the court, Goshiki rushed up to the setter with a ball in his hand.

“Toss to me?” he chirped, light beaming off of his optimistic face.

“Fine, but we stop if you miss the ball at all,” Shirabu grumbled snatching the ball from him and turning away towards an empty court. A smirk met his lips as he kept his back towards the first year. Kawanishi glared at Goshiki, causing him to flinch and hurry after Shirabu. As the two of them practiced alone, Shirabu yelled at him and lectured him about his form, aim, power, and anything he could possibly critique.

With a grain of salt, Goshiki took every criticism without complaint. After what Semi had said, he was starting to see the second year in a different light. “Nice kill,” Goshiki turned to him with a burning fire and roared with cheer. “Don’t let it get into your head,” he sassed. Nodding with determination, he lined himself up for another shot.

“So, why’d you get in trouble?” he questioned hesitantly as Shirabu threw the ball up into the air. Startled by the question, he caught the volleyball instead of hitting it.

“I didn’t get in trouble, I was just distracted. It happens—”

“Not to you,” Shirabu clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like you know anything about me; who are you to judge?” he hissed. Goshiki stared at him for a moment and remembered what Semi said. _His pride is worth a lot and if questioned his immediate response is to attack._

“You’re right, sorry,” he murmured drooping his head. Astonished by Goshiki’s willingness to surrender, Shirabu turned away.

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged. “Let’s just get back to practice before we get yelled at,” he reasoned gesturing with the ball in his hands. Goshiki nodded with a small grinned and the two continued to practice, this time with less criticism.

“Hey, Shirabu can I ask you a question?” the first year asked after a while.

“You just did,” he hummed softly.

“Okay then,” Goshiki said exaggeratedly to stall himself. “Did you get into a fight with Semi this morning?” he immediately regretted the words as they left his lips, Shirabu glaring at him with grueling menace. “W-we don’t have to talk about it!” he yelped putting his hand up as if he were caught for a crime.

“We didn’t get into a fight,” he replied tossing the ball up.

“Then what happened?” he persisted spiking it down.

“I don’t know,” he said vacantly, picking up another ball from the cart. “We just got into a disagree—” Shirabu paused, realizing there wasn’t really a disagreement at all. “There was a misunderstanding,” he finally stated. Goshiki remained silent, not sure what he should ask next, although still eager to hear more. “I don’t hate him and I don’t hate you,” he stated softly. “Although you’re annoying and he’s pretentious,” the wing spiker dropped his head and sighed. Snickering, Shirabu smiled and tossed the ball. “You two aren’t bad people and you’re definitely not bad players. I honestly respect Semi,” Distracted by the genuine comment, the ball flew passed his head. “Looks like we’re done. Go clean up,” he ordered walking back to the other court where Kawanishi was. Picking up all of the volleyballs scattered around the court and putting them back into the cart, Goshiki silently thought to himself.

“Those two don’t hate each other at all!” he mumbled to himself.

* * *

Practice came to an end and Semi left early, leaving his friends behind while still distraught. Kawanishi and Shirabu took their time in the gym, cleaning up the leftover volleyballs. “Are you still going to try and talk to him like you said you would?” he asked.

“After what happened this morning?” he scoffed back.

“I think you’re taking this way to personally—”

“Well I’m _so_ sorry I can’t be emotionally detached like _you_!” he hissed. Kawanishi was silent as he stared at Shirabu with disappointment and hurt. It wasn’t because of what he said, but that he was angry enough to say it at all. He knew he didn’t mean it—and he wouldn’t hold it against him—but it devastated Kawanishi just knowing his friend was hurting enough to attack him. “I’m going to the club room,” he stated quickly dropping the balls into the cart and storming out. Kawanishi sighed as he ran a hand through his brown-red locks.

When he finally left the gym, he found the group of third years, all of them already changed into their casual clothes. “We need to talk; it’ll benefit the both of us,” he said bluntly. Tendou smiled slyly and nodded his head.

“I agree; Semisemi won’t talk to us as of now,” he chirped happily, acting as if it didn’t bother him.

“We’ll take you out for an early dinner as your seniors,” Ohira smiled. Kawanishi nodded his head and went to the club room to change. When he entered, Shirabu was still in the middle of putting his clothes back on.

“I won’t be going back to our room until later today,” he informed as he took off his shirt.

“Do what you please,” he murmured struggling to pull up his pants and tighten his belt.

“I’m not doing it because I’m mad at you,” he clarified. Shirabu turned to him quickly, before averting his glance once again. He didn’t reply. Although the setter was there before him, Kawanishi finished changing first. “I’ll see you at home,” he hummed and pat his shoulder, grabbing his bag and leaving him behind. “Yo,” he muttered to the other four, bowing his head at them in respect. Tendou threw his arm around his protégé and chimed loudly.

“So what do you have in mind?” Kawanishi groaned internal as he slinked away from the red head’s embrace.

“Leave him alone Tendou,” Ohira stated.

“Here comes Mama Reon,” Tendou pouted, the wing spiker chuckling at what was meant as an insult.

“So what’s on your mind Kawanishi?” he asked as they began walking into town.

“Kenjirou’s really upset,” he said with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pocket. “He thinks that the conversation before practice was a setup to humiliate him, I know better though,” he explained.

“Well, Eita didn’t talk much to us after he attempted to chase after Shirabu, but he was… upset,” Ohira recalled.

“He chased after Kenjirou?” he frowned.

“You didn’t see him?” Yamagata chimed in, physically popping in between them. Kawanishi shook his head, his brows now furrowed inward.

“Oh no,” he breathed remembering Shirabu’s last line before they returned to the gym.

“Don’t dwell on the past,” Ushijima suddenly spoke up. “You can’t fix what has already happened, instead it’s better to change for the future,” he preached. Kawanishi turned to him and nodded in agreement. The five of them walked into a small restaurant and took their seats.

“So where should we start?” Yamagata hummed as he peeled the edamame.

“How about with the truth?” the second year suggested. “Does Semi hate Kenjirou?” his expression was lax as usually yet something hostile lingered in his voice.

“He doesn’t,” the libero replied. “Eita’s just bad at people-ing,”

“That’s not a word, Hayato,” Ohira interrupted.

“He knows what I mean,” he mumbled waving it away. “Anyways, he does like Shirabu… right?” he asked uncertainly turning to the other three for conformation. Enthusiastically, Tendou nodded his head.

“Semisemi totally adores Kenjirou,” he mused. “He wants to help him and give him advice and what not,” he explained. _Just like I assumed,_ Kawanishi thought silently to himself.

“He wants to be a mentor for Shirabu,” Ohira added.

“Well that’s not too hard, Kenjirou already admires him—”

“Really?” the shortest exclaimed in shock thrusting his head forward. Quickly he sucked his lips inward and turned away.

“He admires Semi, but he’s also afraid of him. No offense, but Semi is _always_ angry around Kenjirou,” he stated.

“Oh, we know,” Tendou grinned smugly. As they sat at the table, eating and talking, they conspired a way to fix what they reaped. They revealed the secrets that the others told them and devised a plan.

“We actually had an idea,” Yamagata announced with slight hesitation. “We were planning on talking to Shirabu—not all of us and not right now—but we were hoping we could clear things up,” he explained.

“Which of you guys were planning to talk to him?” he asked.

“Wakatoshi, since he’s Kenjirou’s favorite,” Tendou answered. Kawanishi immediately shook his head.

“Nope,” he hummed. “Shirabu idolizes Ushijima, if he randomly spoke to him to defend Semi, its way too suspicious,” he reasoned.

“Well what about—”

“Definitely not you,” he replied cutting off his fellow middle blocker. “You annoy him to no end,” he said to emphasize his point.

“Then which of us?” he questioned. Studying his upperclassmen intensely, Kawanishi pointed over to Ohira.

“Yamagata would probably be too over bearing for Kenjirou so, Ohira would be the best pick,” he deduced.

“It would be my pleasure,” the wing spiker grinned benevolently. “Now the next fact of the matter; are you willing to talk to Eita for us on Shirabu’s behalf?” With a soft grunt, Kawanishi sat up and sighed.

“I’m not very sociable,” he frowned. “But for Kenjirou, I’m willing to do it,” he muttered in defeated.

“As happy as I am that we now have a plan, it would be wise if we gave them time. We don’t want them thinking that this was another setup—not that last time was one either. For now, just leave them be or at least act normally,” he recommended, the others agreeing.

“Hopefully things work out,” Yamagata murmured gloomily.

“Only time will tell,” Ushijima stated. Kawanishi ended up staying later than he expected as the five of them went over and clarified fact after fact after opinion after fact, until all of the puzzle pieces were laying before them stitched together into a coherent image. When the second year returned to the dormitory, he could see that the lights were off even though it was still early in the night. First he knocked on the door before walking in.

“You still awake?” he asked turning on the light. Without a reply, Shirabu shuffled in his bed, turning over so that his back was towards the rest of the room. With a soft sigh, Kawanishi set his things down and pulled up a chair beside his friend’s bed. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbled pulling the blanket up over his head.

“Then why won’t you talk to me?” he questioned tugging at the blankets softly. Shirabu didn’t reply, he only clung to the blankets tighter. “I’m not mad at you; I already told you that after practice,” he comforted. It was quiet. “Did you at least do your homework yet?” Shirabu tilted his head down and Kawanishi took it as a no. Sighing he stood up and patted the mass of blankets. “I’m going to go take a shower. When I come back you better have started your homework,” he warned leaving the room again. When he returned, just like he said, Shirabu was sitting at his desk finishing up the homework he was too distracted to do the night before.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend; I know you’re just trying to help me,” Shirabu said his back still towards the middle blocker. Kawanishi smiled fondly, as he approached his friend and patted his head.

“What are friends for?” he asked teasingly. Smiling too, Shirabu nodded his head. The two of them talked the night away about idle, simple hearted things. Kawanishi just wanted him to be happy. But more than that, he didn’t want him regretting anything after the third years graduate.

* * *

A month had passed and summer came around. The two setters acted the same throughout their days and during practice. Yet whenever they were around each other, instead of bickering, they disacknowledged the other’s existence. It was painfully awkward for everyone involved. No one wanted to speak up or speak out—too afraid that this was just the eye of the storm. The five co-conspirers were less uncomfortable, yet panic and concern filled them. At first Goshiki was oblivious to the unspoken tension, but after realizing it, attempted to figure out what was wrong.

“Don’t worry about it Tsutomu,” Tendou told the first year when he asked him what was going on. The future ace didn’t buy it for a second, but didn’t know what to do on his own. Neither Semi nor Shirabu would open up to him, yet he was so confident in the fact that they didn’t hate each other. As each passing day filled with passive aggressive neglect, Goshiki was losing hope in them.

Finally the day came. Ohira gave Kawanishi a smile and the second year nodded back in acknowledgement. Although his nonchalant face wouldn’t show it, he was feeling anxious. Semi was his senior, anything and everything he said was probably out of line. The third years decided to create an unsuspicious set up to get Ohira and Shirabu alone. They proposed a practice match with the starting group and a random assortment of other members, including Semi as their setter. Before even a full set was complete, Semi’s team gave in, asking if they could train on their own.

“I’m going to work on my serves,” Ushijima stated walking away as the other people started to go off to practice.

“I’ll try and receive them then!” Yamagata chimed trailing after him.

“Semi can you—“

“Tsutomu! Why don’t we practice on your blocks? An ace is more than just a spiker!” Tendou sang throwing his arms around the first year.

“Of course!” he cried with enthusiasm and determination. Shirabu glanced over at Kawanishi ready to speak when Ohira suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Shirabu, would you mind tossing to me?” he asked with a benevolent smile. “I think it would be a good idea to work on our combos, since we don’t have many opportunities to be alone,” he reasoned.

“S-sure!” he stuttered his eyes sparkling in admiration. When the two of them left to another court, Semi stared at Kawanishi from across the net and scratched the back of his head.

“I’m probably going to practice my serves too,” he announced about to leave.

“Ah wait!” Kawanishi called out. The setter stopped and turned to him patiently. Feeling uncharacteristically nervous, Kawanishi turned away and sighed. “I need some help with my serves,” technically it wasn’t a lie, but there was no way he would ever ask for someone’s help willingly.

“Why don’t you ask Ushijima to help you?” Semi frowned.

“Well… he’s intimidating,” that was also true. “Plus, you’re our pinch server; ace server really,” he complimented. Semi smiled; part smug, part flattered.

“Why not? Come here,” he mused lifting the bottom of the net up for Kawanishi to slink over. As the two of them began practicing, Semi giving him pointers and tips, Kawanishi genuinely taking them to heart. Yet in his heart he had higher priorities; problem was, bring it up.

“This is probably out of line—”

“You don’t need to defend Shirabu. I know you two are friends—roommates at that—but I don’t need to hear it,” Semi breathed, cutting him off. The second year turned to him with a look of guilt and shock.

“I think you have the wrong idea though,” he stated looking away and serving the ball again.

“Throw it higher,” Semi noted, pretending to ignore his words.

“Shirabu doesn’t hate you,” he claimed, reattempting to serve.

“Oh?” he scoffed sarcastically.

“I’m being serious,” Kawanishi frowned as he watched Semi do a jump serve.

“No offense Kawanishi, even though you two are best friends, I’m pretty sure he hates me. He despises me, I might even say,” he replied.

“He doesn’t. He’s just really bad at expressing himself. He actually really, really, _really_ admires you,” Semi scoffed again and shook his head.

“I get that you’re trying to fix the current situation. I know that it’s been silently effecting the others too, but _this_? This isn’t the answer. If Shirabu actually admired me or respected me in anyway, he would actually listen to me. He doesn’t have to do as I say, but he would at least _listen_. But instead he gets angry and annoyed and most of all defensive. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, and frankly, I don’t think you should waste your time on trying to make me hear too. Because I’ve been trying to listen and by now, I get the message,” he rambled, his serve perfectly hitting the back corner of the court. Kawanishi was silent as he served next, the ball crashing into the net. “See? I’m not the one distracted,” he stated before helping him with his stance.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Kawanishi repeated the ball soaring over the net. “He really doesn’t. He just thinks _you_ hate him and then acts accordingly,”

“He doesn’t trust me; not my experience, not my judgment, not my character,” Semi replied. The second year sighed as he glanced over at Ohira and Shirabu. _Hopefully he’s having better lucky than me._

But he wasn’t.

“He hates me, I already know it! I mean why wouldn’t he? I did steal his position from him—”

“You didn’t steal anything. You earned your spot, just like he did when he was a first year,” the wing spiker comforted. Shirabu shook his head as he tossed to him.

“I get that he might just have an angry expression permanently stuck on his face and that his voice is just naturally aggressive, but I’ve seen him smile and laughed and encourage people. I know he’s not _always_ like that, so why is it that he is with me? It’s because he hates me,” he reasoned with desperation.

“But that’s not true. He’s proud that you’re the one who’s taking his position on the team. He wants to _help_ you Shirabu—”

“He doesn’t,” he muttered, gripping the ball until his knuckles turned white. Ohira sighed and gave him a sympathetic look. He wouldn’t be able to change his mind. When practice came to an end, Kawanishi walked passed the third years and shook his head subtly; Ohira did the same.

“Guys… I don’t want to be the one to say this but—I think it’s about time we give up,” Yamagata declared. “We know they don’t hate each other, but some people just aren’t meant to get along. We’re wasting our time and we’re probably making things worse for them,” he added.

“I hate to agree, but…” Ohira sighed and shook his head.

“Hold on—!”

“Give it up, Satori, I know it’s not your style to give in, but we should quit while we’re still ahead—”

“Ahead? How’re we ahead?” he cried out, practically hysterical.

“They don’t actually _hate_ each other yet,” the libero snapped. It was quiet among the third years until Ushijima stepped forward.

“Sometimes, it’s best to let fate take its course. We cannot control what is not ours,” he stated. Sighing deeply, Tendou draped himself onto Ushijima and frowned.

“I hate that you’re right, Wakatoshi,”


	4. Punishment and Perspective

Everyone gave up and as the months flew by things were exactly like they were before. The two setters bickered like always, but never to the same extent. More than anything they avoided each other to no end. Semi still spent all his free time with the other third years as usual and everything seemed normal in their friendship. Kawanishi gave up on fixing Shirabu’s relationship with Semi and instead focused on making him happy and helping his studies. Everything was fine in their lives, yet Tendou was unsatisfied. He wanted to fix things; he didn’t want to give up. If only they would at least _try_ to work together. Suddenly an idea pinged.

The following afternoon before practice, the guess monster snuck over to Saitou and whispered in his ear. “Are you sure about this?” the assistant coach questioned skeptically.

“Totally! Other schools do this all the time. If we want to focus on our individual strengths then what a better way to do it than this? Plus, it allows us third years to pass on our knowledge to the other little ducklings when it’s time for them to lead,” he chirped. Saitou frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Fine, it seems reasonable enough. I’ll talk to Coach Washijou,” he conceded. Tendou beamed as he gave an approving nod and slipped away. When practice actually came around, the coaches blew the whistle and told the players to line up.

“Today we will be doing something different!” Washijou announced. “For today, you will be working with the other students who play the same position as you. You will focus on bettering your flexibility in your position and learn to adapt to your fellow players’ play style. Even if you don’t play in real matches, I expect you all to be in top form! You are allowed to work with other groups who play a different position if you are helping each other out. Third years, it is also your job to teach your underclassmen what it is you have learned these past few years. Dismiss!” The whistle blew and students immediately started pairing off with one another.

“Shirabu! Semi!” Saitou called out to the two before they could find someone to team up with. As they walked over to their assistant coach they glared from the corner of their eyes. “You two will be working together and improving the accuracy of your aims. Used the water bottles and attempt to knock them down,” he instructed.

“Yes, sir. But if I may have a question?” Semi replied.

“Go ahead,”

“Why do we have to pair up?” he asked. It wasn’t meant to be offensive; he was just genuinely curious.

“You’re a third year and Shirabu will be the main setter for the following year to come and it would be worth his time to learn from you. Tendou has already claimed Kawanishi and both Ushijima and Ohira are teaching Goshiki. Yamagata as well is training all of the other liberoes. I just noticed that you two weren’t about to partner up and decided to take matters into my own hand,” he explained.

“I understand, sir,” he nodded before turning to leave, Shirabu chasing after him. They didn’t speak to one another as they lined up all the water bottles. “Let’s see what you got,” Semi hummed as he positioned Shirabu in the middle of the bottles. “Hit the third one to the right with your back turns toward it,” he ordered as he threw the ball into the air towards him. Shirabu set it upwards and glanced over his shoulder to see it fall. The ball glided pass the bottle, causing it to rattle but remained standing. “You missed—”

“I can see that,” Shirabu snapped walking over and putting it back to its original spot. Returning to the middle he glanced over his shouldered and tried again.

“Try to—” the bottle clattered to the ground.

“I can do it just fine,” he glared. Semi snorted and shook his head. Suddenly his head stopped and he sighed.

“Alright, try the one all the way to the left,” he instructed scratching the back of his neck. The two of them continued this over and over again like a broken record; Semi telling Shirabu what to do and demonstrating things himself, Shirabu acing everything asked of him and constantly glaring.  “Let’s work on making those arches taller,” Semi declared as he sent the ball soaring before demolishing one of the bottles.

“Can I refuse?” the second year snorted as he picked up the ball and set the bottle back up.

“Hah? Why?” he frowned placing his hands on his hips in annoyance.

“It’s not my play style; I prefer going unnoticed—”

“You’re already succeeding at that,” Semi grumbled softly to himself before shaking his head. “Fine, what do _you_ want to practice then?” he asked.

“Well it’s your job to “teach me your ways _”_ so, teach me your ways,” he sassed putting his fingers up in quotations. _He’s just getting defensive_ , the third year repeated constantly in his head to prevent himself from lashing out.

“ _Alright then,_ ” he spat scratching the back of his head. As much as he genuinely wanted to help Shirabu, he knew their playing styles were just too different. “What do you think about volleyball?” he asked suddenly, his eyes still looming towards the ground. “Like what do you think about when you play?” he restated lifting his gaze. Shirabu frowned deeply and averted his eyes to the side.

“Winning, of course,” he muttered.

“Really?” the third year smirked, amused with his reply. “I don’t blame you, everyone on this team thinks like that too—even I do. But what else? What continues to drive you? What else do you think about when you play?” he pressed on. Finally turning back to him, Shirabu stared with displeasure.

“What’s up with these questions?” he scoffed. “How is this going to make me any better?” Semi suddenly smiled and tapped the side of his head.

“You need to have the right mentality to win. You can be the best of the best, but unless you have the right motivation and focus, it doesn’t mean shit,” he grinned.

“Well… what do you think about?” Shirabu asked, becoming docile, his face suddenly dropping its hostility and turning into a pondering pout.

“It depends. When I’m serving, I think about freedom. I think about just being myself and taking control of what’s in my hand. When I’m setting…” Semi paused a slight frown meeting his lips, as his entire expression turned dull. “I honestly think about everyone else. I think about completely decimating the other team and winning. I think about how everyone is a weapon at my disposable. I think about how I’m the defining backbone of the team and the center of their attack. I think about making the right decision. And I think about what happens if I don’t,” he replied with a look of determination in his eyes. Shirabu’s resolve trembled under his stare and he loomed his head down. “So, what do you think about?” Semi hummed patiently.

“Winning,” he whispered with a sharp breath. For reasons unknown to himself, he felt intimidated. Semi was his senior and looking at the sheer amount of ambition and confidence made him question his own. Semi had a full year more worth of experience over him. He had an entire year more with a power house team. And he had two years of experience as the main setter. He could keep the team on track towards victory, but could Shirabu do the same? He didn’t have the same mentality as him, he didn’t have the raw strength.

“You know, its fine if winning is all you think about,” the third year called out, bring Shirabu back—his face red as he turned to Semi as if he didn’t expect the other setter to be there. “Your playing style is more reserved, so it would be reasonable if your thoughts were too,” he reassured with a slight smirk. Scoffing to himself, Shirabu shook his head with comfort.

“I think about winning. I think about how _I_ can help everyone. I think about what’s the most efficient choice. And I think about obliterating the other team,” he answered with a serious expression.

“Looks like we have the last thing in common,” he snickered, teasingly punching the second year’s shoulder. “You have a more kept style, while I’m… uh,” the third year paused as he tried to think of a word to describe himself with.

“Flashy? Sporadic?” Shirabu mused. Semi gave him a look of unamusement, but quickly smirked afterwards.

“Just because we have different game styles, doesn’t mean we can’t benefit from one another. High sets are useful when receives are slightly off; it ensures that the spiker can hit it. So, you wanna learn or not?” Semi snorted tossing the ball from one hand to the other.

“Why not?” he shrugged with a small smile. As the two of them practice, they returned to their original pattern of constant lecturing and glaring, yet things seemed to be going well.

And then, the inevitable struck.

“Who knows, maybe at his rate you’ll actually get better than me,” Semi snickered as he applauded Shirabu.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the burnet frowned as he picked the bottle back up.

“Nothing, I was just making a joke,” he replied furrowing his brows into a scowl. “Don’t over think it, there’s no use wasting you’re pretty little head over something so menial,” he added on waving the conversation away with his hand. Shirabu gulped, but he couldn’t swallow away his doubts.

“Well, Coach Washijou already decided I was better than you,” he grumbled bitterly into the ball. With wide eyes and an open mouth, Semi stared with disbelief. Startled that he was heard, Shirabu turned away from him wordlessly. Suddenly the confidence that he had in Semi’s words dissolved away into fear. His overwhelming sense of distrust fed his anxieties and he was now certain that everything and anything Semi said was insincere.

“That was a bit uncalled for,” the third year huffed, folding his arms and glaring, although in reality he was more surprise than angry.

“Well it’s true,” he sassed bring the ball down against his hip. “I’m the main setter—I _took_ your position— doesn’t that makes _me_ the better one?” he stated rhetorically.

“Look here, Shirabu,” Semi grunted stepping forward and pointing a finger at the second year. “You’re _not_ better than me. We have two different styles; just because you’re better fit for the team _doesn’t_ mean you’re _better_ than me,” he hissed. “Even if I’m unreliable, I was the main setter before you. I may be just your replacement now, but I still have more experience and knowledge than you do,” he stated almost threateningly.

“Why does that matter?” he scoffed rolling his brown-gray eyes. “Experience doesn’t mean anything over talent—”

“Yes, it does!” Semi roared. “Raw talent doesn’t get you anywhere. You learn from your experience. You grow from your mistakes. We may have won at the Interhigh Preliminaries, but that doesn’t meaning anything on your behalf. I’ve taken us through that tournament twice now, and every setter before you has too. You _will_ be defeated one day. You _will_ get your ass kicked and who are you going to blame for that? The other team was simply better, right? Well, why were they? Someone was the weak link and it’s going to be _you_.

“As the setter, you make the calls on who and when someone attacks. It’s your fault if they don’t score points enough. Fuck our defense! Even if we can’t receive, we’ll just pay them back twice as much with our offense. But you know what? We can’t use that excuse, because everyone works their damn ass off to be the best fucken player they can be. You may be the main setter, but that doesn’t mean fucken shit to me; you’re still just an ignorant kid,” Suddenly, Semi was thrown into the net as the volleyball collided into his face. Staggering back up, he clutched his nose and looked at his hand; blood. The whistle trilled in the air, ringing in their heads that everyone saw—and probably heard—what just happened.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Shirabu breathed heavily, fury raging through his veins.

“I know more about you than you think,” the third year grunted, tilting his head back to prevent the blood from splattering on the floor.

“That’s it!” Washijou screeched from the other side of the gym, marching towards them with undeniable authority and wrath. “Semi, infirmary, _now._ Shirabu, dorms. This team may not be built off of cooperation and teamwork per se, but you’re both hindrances to everyone right now. You two are not allowed to return to practice until you can set aside your difference and resolve whatever this squabble is! I don’t care if we have to play without you two. Do you guys think you’re the only good setters at Shiratorizawa? Like Semi said: _everyone_ works their asses off to be here. Yet you two seem too busy beating each other’s asses. Now, _leave!”_ he commanded. Taking a deep breath, Shirabu soundlessly bowed his head and walked away.

“I’ll take Eita to the infirmary,” Ohira called out, emerging from the small murmurs of the other students.

“Thanks,” the setter muttered as they left the gym.

“What was all _that_ about?” he demanded immediately, impatiently awaiting Semi’s reply.

“Fuck it, I don’t know!” he cried throwing one of his hands into the air for dramatic effect. “I just made a damn joke and he got so fucken defensive and I lost my tempter!” he shouted out with a loud frustrated grunt. Ohira sighed and shook his head, nesting his forehead in his fingers.

“Oh Eita,” he murmured.

“Are you fucken kidding me? Can’t you at least feel bad for me? He threw a damn ball in my face!” he huffed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I do feel back for you, but we _all_ heard what you said. I don’t think anyone blames you completely—we know Shirabu can be difficult—but you called him an ignorant child. You blamed him for our future loses,” he grumbled with a heavy breath.

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ though. We’re all still kids. No matter how grown up we feel, we’re still kids. We don’t know what’s right from wrong, we can’t tell what the fuck is going to happen. And I _wasn’t_ blaming him, I was just telling him that he has responsibilities to the team and he can’t let his confidence do all the talk,” Semi explained.

“Well it sure didn’t sound like it and it sure seems that you still don’t know what’s right from wrong,” Ohira frowned opening the door to the infirmary for him. Still fuming, Semi grunted and grumbled in irritation, but made no audible effort to reply. The nurse handed Semi a tissue box and thanked the wing spiker for walking the other student there. “Of course. See you after practice,” he called out before leaving. Sighing, Semi drained the blood from his nose and looked in the mirror. His nose was are purple and red, but luckily wasn’t broken.

When the commotion subsided in the gym and Washijou ordered everyone back to work, changing practice back to its original regime. Scooting over to Ushijima, Tendou collapsed onto him, his long arms wrapped tightly around his captain’s neck. “I did something bad, Wakatoshi,” he confessed somberly.

“I don’t blame you,” the man replied without another word. Tendou sighed drearily and hugged him tighter.

“I should’ve given up. If I have left them alone like everyone agreed on, then Eita wouldn’t be in the infirmary and the two of them wouldn’t hate each other…” he paused for a moment. “They _hate_ each other now,” he whispered finally fully considering what those words meant. “Wakatoshi, I _broke_ them,” he gasped. Ushijima turned around while still in his embrace and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him a short distance away.

“You can’t change who you are and you can’t change them either. Their hate is convoluted in fury. Things are fine the way they are—”

“They both just got kicked out of the team; I don’t think everything is _fine_ ,” he scoffed, his eyes half lidded in distress. The gym door opened with a rattle and Ohira reappeared, his head shaking like a disapproving parent. “Was it bad?” Tendou frowned.

“He’s still burning. We should probably check up on him after practice,” he suggested, Yamagata approaching them as well.

“Think he would honestly be willing to hangout after getting hit in the face?” the libero huffed.

“Who knows? It’s worth a shot. We _are_ his friends after all,” he replied. As the two of them talked, Ushijima looked over at Tendou and gave him a knowing nod. With a sigh, Tendou cleared his throat, catching the other two’s attention.

“I may have not given up when I promised that I would have,” he stated with a slanted frown.

“You what?” Yamagata gasped dropping his head in shock.

“I may have been the one who convinced the Coach Saitou to make us do position practice with the intent of the third years helping out the first and second years. And I may have been the one who planted the idea of Semi and Shirabu pairing,” he explained.

“Satori!” Ohira bellowed.

“Well in my head it all worked out. They would’ve fought a little but in the end they were supposed to get along!” he pouted.

“Guessing is called guessing for a reason!” Yamagata snapped, although he was more gloom than he was infuriated. Without warning, the whistle rung, surprising the four third years.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you guys either!” Washijou hollered.

“Yes, Sir!” they sang back quickly dispersing into practice.

* * *

When Kawanishi entered his shared room, Shirabu was curled under the blankets again. After the door shut, Shirabu sprung onto his knees. “Did you check on Semi? Did I break his nose or anything? Did it look bad?” he shouted his face filled with concern. His eyes, cheeks, and nose were red and it was undeniable that he had been crying.

“I didn’t see him, but I did hear from the others; he’s fine. How’re you?” he hummed softly, gently petting Shirabu’s hair. The setter sighed with some relief and slumped over against the wall.

“Well, my feelings are hurt,” Shirabu gave a weak scoff and tried to smile but it quickly dissolved into a somber frown. “I let my emotions get the best of me. We were actually getting along, too. We even smiled at each other,” he let out a soft hum and attempted to smile again, but failed. “I just _had_ to get all defensive and make him mad. He must _really_ hate me now,” he whispered grabbing his pillow and burying his face in it. Sighing, Kawanishi sat down beside him and placed a hand on his knee.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this too much—”

“Like how I did with Semi?”

“You didn’t beat him up, you just threw a ball into his face,” Shirabu let out a muffled groan. “But you have bigger problems than that now; you literally got kicked out,” the auburn stated somewhat harshly, emphasizing every word.

“Oh god,” Shirabu cried as he fell over onto his side. “Taichi, what am I going to do? I only studied my ass off to get here so I could play volleyball!”

“Well you just have to make up with Semi—”

“Something realistic please! I literally just smashed his face in,” he sighed curling into a ball and hugging his pillow.

“You didn’t actually smash his face in; he’s fine, I told you this already,” Kawanishi frowned, lightly hitting the side of his thigh. “But remember your only option is to make up with him,” he reminded. “If you want to continue being our setter—more or less to play volleyball in general—you’re going to have to apologize and make up with him,” he warned laying down on his back beside Shirabu.

“Oh Taichi, what am I going to do?” he repeated broken heartedly.

* * *

“How are you doing?” Ushijima asked as the four of them walked into Semi’s dorm room. When they entered, he was sitting at his desk amongst his textbooks and notebooks.

“What the hell? How’d you guys get in?” he cried, nearly flinging his pen at them, startled at their sudden arrival.

“I made a copy of your key a while ago,” Tendou shrugged nonchalantly.

“You bastard,” he frowned.

“Don’t be mean Semisemi! I made a copy of everyone’s,” he mused back. The setter sighed and shook his head before looking back over to their captain.

“I’m fine, thanks. My nose is just throbbing a bit, but all in all it’s nothing serious,” he replied. Ushijima nodded back in response, but gave Semi a look of concern. “Really guys, I’m fine,” he reassured.

“Physically, yea, but what about mentally? You got booted,” Yamagata barked. Semi groaned softly and dropped his forehead against the edge of his desk.

“I don’t fucken know anymore guys,” he breathed. “I really thought we were getting along, maybe even bonding. I just lost my fucken temper and said things in ways I didn’t mean,”

“Look,” the shortest said assertively, sitting beside his friend. “You legitimate have to make up with him if you ever want to play volleyball on the team again. Yea he threw a damn ball at your face, but you just have to apologize for some misworded shit and get this done with,” he lectured. Raising his head, Semi looked at Yamagata and smirked.

“Thanks, I know. But right now, I just need a break,” he sighed.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Ohira smiled warmly. “Come on, let’ get your mind off of things,” he comforted, forcefully pulling Semi out of his seat and out the door with them. “So when are you planning to apologize?” he asked as they walked in the warm air.

“I don’t know, probably at the end of the week on Saturday while you guys are at practice,” he shrugged.

“What? Why so long? That’s five days from now,” Yamagata frowned.

“I’m in no hurry to get back. I mean of course I want to play and it really sucks that I can’t, but more than anything I need to cool my head. _And_ let my nose heal,” he reasoned.

“Well what if Shirabu wants to get back sooner?” the wing spiker asked.

“Then he’ll come talk to me on his own. I’m planning to go up to him on Saturday of my own accord, if he doesn’t do anything by then, so be it. Otherwise, I’d be more than willing to talk to him,” he replied calmly.

“You’re awfully a lot more mature about this than I expected,” he smiled.

“Well, I decided I didn’t was to be a kid anymore,” Semi replied giving him a little smirk. “I know what’s right from wrong now,”


	5. Semi and Shirabu

Morning and night trickled by slowly for the two setters. They never realized how much time and effort they put into the club until they had to sit in the emptiness of their own dorm room hours before they usually would. Alone in his room, Shirabu would lay on his bed and toss the ball mindlessly, attempting to distract himself for his current situation. Semi instead recited speech after speech in hopes of finding the right words to fix what he blamed himself for.

Neither of them confined in their friends anymore, it had become more tedious than relieving for them. The group of third years officially gave up on pressing the matter and agreed that Semi was sane enough to come up with a reasonable solution even without their meddling and advice. Kawanishi on the other simply hand just ran out of things to say. Shirabu was so caught up in his own head that words just slipped right through one ear and floated out the other. No one cared if they were friends anymore, they just wanted them back in the club.

Finally, after five excruciatingly long and uneventful days, Saturday arrived. Constantly glancing at the clock, Semi sighed to himself. _Better to get things over with_. As he strolled through the dormitory towards the second year’s room, he thought to him. He was honestly a bit hurt that Shirabu hadn’t attempted to talk to him during the past few days—yet he understood why it might have been hard for the younger boy. As he knocked on the door, Shirabu squeaked in horror, dropping the volleyball on his nose—quite ironically really.

“I’ll be there soon, just give me a second,” he called as he sat up and rubbed his face, using his feet to kick the ball under his desk. When he opened the door, his immediately instincts was to slam it shut again.

“What the hell?” the third year shouted in shock.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered opening it again. He wasn’t expecting to see Semi and was certain that this was just a bad dream or a hallucination due to him being deprive of playing volleyball. “How’s your nose?” he asked as he let the third year in.

“Fine,” he replied shortly, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Motioning for him to take a seat at his desk, Shirabu sat himself back down onto his bed.

“I’m sorry I threw the ball at you,” the burnet muttered with embarrassment. Semi was silent for a moment before nodding his head. Neither of them looked at each other.

“Its fine,” he hummed. “I’m sorry for saying what I said,” he added.

“Its fine,” once more it was silent.

“I wanna go back to the club and I take it you do too. Even if Coach says that he doesn’t need us, I know better than that. There’s no one in that club that’s anywhere close to our level. I get that you hate me, but let’s just bury the hatchet or whatever. We don’t have to associate with one another unless we have to. I will stay out of your way; it’s not like we’re ever on the court at the same time anyways. There doesn’t have to be bickering or tension in the air. We’ve both already apologized. We can go on in silent contentment or silent resent, either way it doesn’t matter. Even if you don’t actually forgive me or feel bad it’s fine; I just want to play again. So what do you say? Just go back to ignoring each other?” Semi stated turning to Shirabu for the last two questions. Begrudgingly, Shirabu met his gaze. He didn’t want to agree to those terms; not because he didn’t want to make up, but because he didn’t want to continue the charade of pretending the other didn’t exist. But what other choice did he have?

“Fine,” he whispered, with self-hate and frustration. It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t going to be fine. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He was bad with words and he knew it. There was nothing he could say, or at least think to say, to change any of it and Semi nodded his head and rose to his feet.

“I’m not planning to go in today, if that’s okay with you,” he informed.

“Uh sure, it’s fine,” he replied getting up and opening the door for him. For a second the two of them stood their staring at each other, their eyes both revealing that they wanted to say more, but the fear was too overpowering. Shirabu was so sure that Semi hated his every being—he had been sure this entire time—and he didn’t know if anything he said could fix what he thought he had broken. His exasperation and aggravation was so prevalent that even Semi noticed it. But the third year was so wrapped up in the idea that Shirabu hated him, that he mistook the self-hate for irritation. He felt so defeated. He didn’t even say what he had planned to say.

But there was nothing left to say.

Sealing the deal with a bow of his head, Semi left. Fully shutting the door, Shirabu collapsed back onto his bed. He hated himself more than ever. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Then again, how were they supposed to go at all? He spent this entire time being so opposed to the idea of Semi liking him that he hadn’t even considered trying to win him over on his own. As he strolled back down the corridors towards his own room again, Semi replayed the incident in his head. Once again he said what he wanted, but in a way he didn’t want to.

In his expectations he was going to try and convince Shirabu to genuinely forgive him. He wanted to put everything behind them and start anew. If the second year rejected his offer and reiterated what he so dearly believed was true, he would accept it and just suggest them disacknowledging one another again. Yet instead, he led with the ignoring instead of the friendshipping. Groaning, Semi collapsed onto his bed. He only had so many months left until graduation, after that he wouldn’t have to worry about Shirabu again. Yet something in the back of his mind knew that that wasn’t true.

* * *

Right before practice on Monday, Semi and Shirabu approached their coach. Washijou gave them a disapproving frown and scoffed. “I thought I told you not to come back until you two can quit your fighting?” he mused.

“That’s exactly why we are here, Sir. We’ve both formally apologized to one another and agreed to stop fighting,” Semi replied. “So if you would be willing to take us back, we would greatly appreciate it,” he stated, both of the setters bowing downing deeply.

“Do you have anything you would like to add, Shirabu?” he asked turning to the second year. His eyes shifted over to Semi before returning to the much older man.

“No, Sir. I have faith in Semi’s words,” he answered.

“Very well, I will see both of you at practice today. Don’t expect me to give you special treatment for being away. I hope both of you didn’t just spent this entire week slacking off and doing nothing,” he warned before shooing them off. When it was actually time for practice, everyone greeted the two back with open arms—everyone avoiding the incident from a week ago.

“Semi!” Goshiki cheered with excitement. “Want to stay after practice with me?” he asked, light shimmer off of his beaming hopeful grin.

“Sure,” he smirked. “I need to get back in shape anyways,” he teased showing off his arm muscles.

“Oh please, Eita! You’re not going to get rusty in one day,” Yamagata chuckled throwing his arm around his friend.

“I’m flattered,” he smiled.

“Welcome back,” Kawanishi hummed, patting Shirabu’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he replied with a small excited smirk. “I didn’t realize how much I would miss playing,” he mumbled.

“That’s a lie, you know exactly how deep you’re in,” he joked. Practice went about normally, everything appearing to be fine. As conflicted as the setters felt on the inside, they were both just happy to be back on the court. When practice came to an end and everyone began cleaning, Semi left a net up and cart of balls out, taking the keys from the coach.

“Let’s practice!” he grinned cheerfully. Enthusiastically, Goshiki nodded.

“How’s your face feeling?” the first year asked as he spiked the ball.

“A lot better; it’s healed pretty nicely,” he replied without suspicion or irritation.

“Are you and Shirabu really friends now?” he questioned hopefully.

“Ah…” he hummed with a slight frown. “No, not really. I mean he hates me, so… well, anyways, we both just agreed on sucking it up for now and forcing ourselves to get along,” he explained openly. Although he was exhausted of talking about his feelings to his friends, something felt nice about opening up to someone new.

“Shirabu doesn’t hate you,” Goshiki mumbled with confusions, his brows furrowing simultaneously as he hit the ball.

“Yes, he does,” he replied with a matter-of-fact voice.

“But he doesn’t?” the first year huffed with a puzzled tone. “He doesn’t hate you. You were the one who put it best: Shirabu’s just scared. He doesn’t like people so he’s mean to them, but he doesn’t _not_ like them either. He even told me a while ago that he didn’t hate us. He complimented me actually!” he beamed.

“Oh really?” Semi smiled fondly. “What’d he say?”

“Well, I mean it was as much of a compliment as I was going to get from him,” he muttered lowering his head and scratching the back of his head. “He said that I wasn’t a bad player. Actually, he said the same about you too! He said that you aren’t a bad person and you’re definitely not a bad setter. He talked about how he respected you,” he explained as he hit the ball.

“Nice kill,” Semi whistled as he took his words into consideration. Hearing them from Goshiki was somehow comforting—like a new perspective. Of course his friends would tell him that Shirabu didn’t hate him, it was their job as his friends to make him feel better about himself. And of course Kawanishi would tell him that Shirabu didn’t hate him too, it was his job as Shirabu’s friend to protect him. Yet Goshiki—even as his underclassmen—had no obligations to attempt to better their relationship with one another.

“Did he ever say anything else about me?” he asked curiously.

“Sure? He’s always mentioning how he looks up to you and admires your skills as an overall player. I think he even once said that he felt bad that he was the main setter now, since you wouldn’t be able to play as much anymore,” he went on. As the wing spiker continued to ramble on and on about all the things that Shirabu had said, a feeling of realization over took Semi, immediately followed by a feeling of dread.

Finally coming to terms and believing everything he had been told up until now, Semi realized how stupid he must have been. Even though he knew Shirabu was easily irked and had troubles with his own pride, Semi never considered that maybe that was it. That maybe there was never any hate involve and that maybe it was all out of pure defensiveness. It hit him that maybe _he_ was the one who was out of line, just like when Shirabu threw the ball at his face.

But it was too late now. Even if he started acting genuinely kind to Shirabu, it would just seem like he was pretending so that they wouldn’t get kicked out. He missed his chance to actually become friends with Shirabu. As these thoughts ran through his head, Semi paused. Shirabu literally said that he had faith in his words. Shirabu had _faith_ in _him_. Originally he thought the second year was only saying that to help their case, yet now he was sure there was truth in his words.

“Semi?” Goshiki frowned looking at his upperclassmen with concern.

“Sorry, just got distracted,” he replied as he tossed the ball up. Spiking it, he landed on his feet and turned back to the white haired man once more. “What?”

“Nothing,” The two of them practiced together for another good hour before cleaning up and locking the gym.

“Thanks, Tsutomu,” Semi stated as they entered the dormitory.

“Huh? For what? Why?” he asked in shock. Semi shrugged and patted him on the back.

“For a lot of things,” he smirked. “Goodnight, Ace” he chimed leaving the first year in the lobby stunned and confuse.

* * *

Before anyone realized it, the Spring High Preliminary was a week away. Practice became more intense and everyone pushed themselves to a crushing degree. “I want you guys to work hard, but don’t be stupid enough to overwork yourself to exhaustion,” Washijou lectured before dismissing them for the evening. As everyone continued cleaning the gym, Goshiki rushed over to Shirabu.

“Please?” he begged.

“What’s going on?” Kawanishi muttered to his friend as he stood behind him. Crossing his arms, Shirabu scoffed.

“He’s been asking me to stay after practice with him for almost a week now,” he whispered back.

“I want me to intimidate him away?” Shirabu stifled a laughed and shook his head smiling.

“No, I’ll entertain him,” he concluded. “Alright, Goshiki, but on one condition,” the first year sparkled with appreciation and nodded his head enthusiastically. “You can’t cry over any of my criticism and anything I say—no matter how uncalled for—is fair game,” he proposed.

“Fine,” he sighed in agreement.

“Want me to stay?” the middle blocker asked.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll see you back at the room,” Shirabu replied patting his friend’s arm before walking off to one of the still netted courts. As they practice, the setter relentlessly called out every one of Goshiki’s flaws. But instead of his usual pure discrimination, he gave the spiker tips and advice to better himself.

“You’re awfully nice,” Goshiki frowned. Purposefully tossing the ball lower, it hit the first year in the head.

“That’s because I got removed for misconduct,” he replied with an angry scoffed.

“Oh, right, yea,” he muttered rubbing the side of his head. With a sigh, the second year continued giving him instruction, his tone of voice notably less rude. “So you and Semi finally made up, huh?” he spoke as he spiked the ball pass the back line.

“Control your own strength or at least aim lower,” he lectured before grabbing another ball. “Come on, we’ll practice your crosses now,” he stated. It was silent for a moment as Goshiki waited for him to reply to his previous question. With a groan of disgust and a roll of his eyes, Shirabu decided to reply. “Not really,” he grumbled.

“But I thought—”

“Well you thought wrong then,” he snapped.

“So you _do_ hate him?” Shirabu was quiet for a moment as he held the ball in his hands.

“Of course not,” he replied setting the ball.

“So you _don’t_ hate him?” he asked.

“I do _not_ hate him,” he clarified.

“Then why didn’t you two make up?”

“Because forgiveness is a two way street. Just because I don’t hate him doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate me,” he hissed, his anger and self-worth boiling.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Goshiki stated bluntly as he hit the ball.

“Does he now?” Shirabu replied sarcastically.

“Yea, he doesn’t. He’s actually really fond of you,” he pouted like a needy child. “He always raves about how smart you are,” he added.

“Does he now?” the burnet repeated in pure shock.

“Yup!” he chimed slamming the ball as hard as he could. “To be honest, I don’t really get it—it might be because I’m not a setter—but he always compliments about how you’re so reserve and whatnot. He’s actually super proud of you!” he glimmered.

“But I took his position,” he mumbled bitterly.

“Well yea, but he’s happy that out of everyone, you’re the one who took it,” he informed. As Shirabu continued tossing the ball, he stared at Goshiki with confusion and appreciation. The first year was simpleminded, he wasn’t capable of being a part of some kind of elaborate scheme. He was kind of like a more expressive Ushijima; blunt and only genuine.

“If he actually likes me as much as you say, then why is he always yelling at me?” he questioned. His doubt was virtually fading, but some things still didn’t add up in his head.

“Well, do you hate me?” Goshiki asked with a hopeful voice.

“I already told you I didn’t,” the second year grumbled, not seeing how this was related.

“Why are you lecturing me now?” he asked next.

“Because you suck,” he replied bluntly. With a whimper of disappointment, he dropped his head in shame. “And I’m trying to help you not suck,” he added softly. Suddenly perking up, Goshiki shimmered and nodded.

“Exactly!” he cried out. “Semi bosses you around because he wants to help you! You’re his successor and he wants you to succeed. He’s made to help you, but you don’t make it very easy,” he snickered, finding it amusing. For the first year—already knowing that they didn’t hate each other, but not fully realizing the tension between them—found the situation mainly as a light heart feud; a misunderstanding he believed he could fix easily. “Semi was the main setter, but now all his skills and knowledge as a setter are going to waste as a pinch server and backup player. What better way to put that experience to use than to hand down it to the person who can learn the most from it?” he chimed.

“I guess you’re right,” Shirabu hummed recalling when he was forced to work with Semi. The trigger that set off the third year was when Shirabu undermined the worth of experience.

“Hey, Shirabu?” Goshiki chirped.

“What?” he replied, his voice soft and casual.

“Why’d you hit Semi in the face if you actually admire him?” Shirabu sighed loudly as he shook his head and started putting the balls away.

“Help me clean up,” he ordered, Goshiki quickly running to the other side to pick up the scattered objects. “I did it because I was afraid. As much of a hard-ass that I am, I have feelings and my own problems,” he mumbled. Full of new found sympathy, the first year stared at Shirabu with his lips pressed together in a thin line. “No you don’t!” he snapped. “I don’t want your damn pity! You keep that for yourself!” he glared. With a soft smile, Goshiki nodded. Rolling his eyes, Shirabu finished locking everything away. “Good work today,” he muttered before leaving the first year. He wanted to patch things up with Semi, but he didn’t know how. There was nothing he could say or do that would fix things; not in his eyes.

Radiating his joy, Goshiki cheerfully walked back to his room. He knew—he _knew_ —those two didn’t hate each other. But he also knew that he couldn’t fix everything in one night, but he could always dream.

* * *

The echo of the ball hitting the ground filled the gym with silence. The whistle rang loud in their ears and suddenly an impossible feat was overcame; they had lost. Shouting shattered the silence, most of it in disbelief, others in joy or disappointment. They had lost. As they lined up along the court, said their thanks, and shook hands with the other team—a fallen power house, suddenly revived by three peculiar first years—they all still couldn’t comprehend what had happened. They had lost.

“I never thought we would lose,” Shirabu whispered his mind trying to wrap around the concept as he spoke to Ohira.

“Well, no one here thought we would lose,” the third year replied back. And then it hit them. _They had lost_. Tears streamed down their faces in frustration and regret. It was over for them. As they crowded around their coaches, eyes red from rubbing, Washijou spoke. They were all heartbroken and discourage; unbelievably agonizing over the event. _They had lost_.

After the award ceremony, as they all readied themselves to get on the bus, Shirabu’s mind repeated a single question. _Was it my fault?_ Although the fight from weeks ago, had cleared up—Semi swearing those weren’t the words he meant—who’s to say he was wrong about it? Was it his own fault? Was he a failure as their setter? Could Semi have led them to victory? Was it his own fault? Walking away from the rest of the group to an isolated hallway, Shirabu cracked, completely breaking down. They had lost and it was all his fault. “Hey!” Shirabu jumped, lifting his head and ferociously wiping away his tears. Semi stood at the end of the hallway, with a frown and red eyes. “You did good out there,” he stated.

“We lost… we lost because of _me_ —”

“That’s not true—”

“But you said—”

“I didn’t mean it and you know that,” Semi stated firmly, yet his usual hostility was nowhere to be heard. The third year approached him and grabbed his shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “You did amazing out there and there was nothing more that you could have done,” he comforted with a smile.

“It should have been you out there, not me,” he whispered melancholically, his head tilted towards the ground as he watched his tears trickle down.

“Shirabu stop, please,” Semi sighed gently shaking the setter. “ _You are better than me_ ,” he urged with sincerity. Shirabu lifted his head in shock and sobbed.

“We lost,” he could barely speak, his sadness choking his words away. Hesitating for a second, Semi hugged the second year and patted his head.

“You, and _all_ of Shiratorizawa, with dominate next year. We may have lost, but now you can learn from your mistakes,” he comforted starting to rock back and forth. “You are an amazing person, Shirabu. And an even better setter. So don’t put yourself down like that. We all have faith in you for the year to come and we know you will do great, why else would we leave the club in your hands?” he teased finally pulling away. Sniffling, Shirabu wiped his eyes. “Feeling better?” the white haired man asked, the second year nodding back in response.

“I… I need to apologize to you for—”

“Don’t even sweat it, I forgive you,” Semi replied cutting him off. “Honestly, if anything, I should be the one to apologize,” Shirabu shook his head and smiled softly.

“I forgave you already,” the two of them fell silent as they stood in the empty corridors finding comfort in the other’s presence.

“Truce?” Semi asked.

“Truce,” the two of them gave each other a hug before returning back towards the rest of the team.

“I’m still going to be a dick to you though,” he snickered.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m still going to be a prissy stuck up,” he chuckled back. “But hey, you do know that I never hated you right?” he questioned.

“I know, Tsutomu explained it to me,” he replied fondly.

“Really?” Shirabu replied mildly surprised. “He was the one who convinced me that you didn’t hate me, too,” he gasped.

“Was he now?” as they approached the rest of the group, Semi pounced onto Goshiki, wrapping his arm around his neck and tousling his hair. “Thanks Tsutomu,” he whispered. The first year turned to him in confusion before noticing a smiling Shirabu beside him. Although still mournful about the results of the match, he was happy that he was successful in his endeavor in mending their relationship. Ushijima, Tendou, Ohira, Yamagata, and Kawanishi approached the three of them with utter shock and confusion.

“At least there’s some good news today,” Yamagata stated with a soft grin. And in their heartbreak and sorrow, they found the true value of their friendship. They knew nothing would make up for their loss, but at least they had one another to find comfort in. In a team where individual strength is valued over teamwork, they still managed to learn to work and grow with one another. And goddamn, if that isn’t a lesson worth learning.


End file.
